


Moving On and Getting Over

by PrecariousSauce



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Aging, Ambivalence, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Identity Issues, Introspection, Kingdom Hearts Canon is Confusing, Normal Life, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers – Kingdom Hearts III
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 02:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17820293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrecariousSauce/pseuds/PrecariousSauce
Summary: Everything that takes off must touch down. Those who have been flying try to learn to walk again.Or; a series of vignettes about how nothing really ends.





	Moving On and Getting Over

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have NO IDEA how to describe this. What I CAN say is that anything I've postulated here is definitely going to get shot down by KH4 or the next Union Cross update or whatever, but I'll be real, as far as I'm concerned this series is over so I really don't care.
> 
> Also I had written this under the impression that Nobodies don't age, but most evidence I've gleaned when doing further research tells me that they PROBABLY do, so bear with that mistake please.

i

Astrida has noticed something– her son has some new friends.

Which isn’t odd in and of itself, Hayner’s very good at making new friends. What’s odd are the friends themselves.

Roxas and Xion seem like very sweet kids. Xion is a bit quiet and Roxas is a bit hotheaded, but they’re sweet all the same, and always polite when they come over to the house (Xion even offers to help her clean, which Astrida appreciates but never takes her up on). She’s asked her son if they go to school with him, and Hayner told her they’re homeschooled. They were over for a ‘study party’ Olette had put together for the midterm exams, and from what she overheard those two had strange gaps in basic knowledge that only an informal education could explain. If it wasn’t through school she’s not sure where else Hayner could’ve met them. Twilight Town is a small place– small enough that for a week and a half everyone assumes rumors of four people suddenly appearing and living out of the abandoned mansion are just that until they run into those same four people at the outdoor theater.

But it’s not the kids that make her nervous. Children haven’t made Astrida nervous for quite some time.

Their _caretakers_ very much _do_. The two men, too old to be Roxas and Xion’s siblings but too young to be their parents, don’t seem to like the company of people their own age very much.

The redhead– Lea, Axel, she’s honestly not sure, she’s heard the name used interchangeably– isn’t _un_ friendly, far from it. The two of them have made pleasant small talk when they’ve run into each other at the shops or the station, and Le Grand Bistrot’s owner had plenty of kind things to say about him when he came up in idle conversation, but he seems to have more casual acquaintances than friends among the adult population. It doesn’t help that he apparently works outside the city, keeping odd hours. Astrida supposes she can’t complain about Axel taking over as her son’s adult supervision, it gives her more time for herself, but she can’t help but balk at a man his age who seems so genuinely _interested_ in spending time looking after a bunch of teenagers.

The other young man, far more secure in the name Isa ( _she once overheard Xion call him ’Saiix’ by accident and he froze, prompting the girl to apologize profusely_ ), is rather reserved by comparison. If Axel has few acquaintances, Isa has none. When he’s not on Axel’s heels he’s nowhere to be found. Allegedly he handles Roxas and Xion’s education, but the two children keep even odder hours than Axel and seem to pop up whenever and wherever they please, so she doesn’t quite buy that. And when he _is_ present, he never quite seems… comfortable. He moves with a certain stiffness, a certain downward gaze that makes him look like someone trying not to be seen. Only when he thinks no eyes but Axel, Roxas and Xion’s are on him does he seem to relax.

Gossip spreads and circulates and soon enough _everyone_ has their own theory about the two young men and their even younger charges– the gossip gets _very_ dark _very_ quickly. Astrida wants to think she’s better than that, but the fact that they’re hovering so close to _her son_ makes sleep hard to grasp and harder to hold onto. The rumors dig their hooks into her mind, tugging incessantly, giving her headaches. She doesn’t know anything about these people, these squatters in an abandoned home who’ve thrown themselves into her son’s life like they belong there.

And what could she even _do_ about it? People in Twilight Town gossip, they don’t _act_. She asks Olette’s mother, Eufeme, if she has the same fears over lunch at Le Grande Bistrot.

Eufeme looks at Astrida like she’s suggesting shooting them in the street; “Heavens no! I’ll admit they were odd at first, but Axel’s been nothing but a sweetheart– He’s good at keeping the kids out of trouble, it’s taken such a load off my mind knowing they’re not just running wild out there. Isa’s quiet, certainly, but he means well. Honestly Astrida, I know it’s just you and Hayner now but you could stand to loosen your grip on him a bit.”

Astrida doesn’t tell Eufeme to her face how incredibly insensitive that remark was, but she tries to communicate it with her aggressive stabs with her fork into her _eel matelote_.

She tries something of a gentler touch, wondering absently as Hayner tells her he’s heading out to meet Roxas, Xion and Axel if he thinks it’s weird that Axel and Isa are almost always with them.

Hayner takes a moment to think, then just shrugs; “Not really? I mean, they’re Roxas and Xion’s friends, and sure they’re old, but they’re still pretty cool.”

He darts out with a hurried farewell, and Astrida stares out the kitchen window for a long while afterward, watching the sun that never quite sets.

Another day, the three of them come to the house to get Hayner before heading off to some misadventure or another. Hayner brings Roxas up to his room to quickly show him something before they leave, Xion asks if she can use the restroom and disappears down the hall and to the left, leaving Astrida and Axel alone in the front room.

Axel leans against the front door’s frame with a bemused smirk; “Didn’t expect I’d actually get a second of quiet today.”

Astrida nods, a shallow motion, and pushes some tawny hair behind one ear; “I thought you’d be used to the noise– It feels like _you_ see more of my son than I do, these days.”

Axel shrugs, loose, easy, and unguarded; “Sure I do, doesn’t mean I can keep up all the time. I can’t remember having anywhere _near_ that much energy when I was their age.”

Astrida considers him for a moment; “… Do you mind if I ask you something of a personal question?”

Axel blinks a few times, but doesn’t tense up; “Go ahead.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, taking the hem of one shirtsleeve in her fingers and fiddling with it; “What happened to Roxas and Xion’s parents?”

Silence stretches out like the train tracks leading out of Twilight Town towards the sea.

Axel reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck, looking away from her as he mutters, “That’s… The _simplest_ way to put it is that… _they’re_ … not around, I guess.”

Astrida furrows her brow, mouth pinching into a frown; “You _guess?_ ”

Axel pauses before rubbing at his temple; “To put _that_ simply– and I don’t even know if that’s _possible_ but I’m gonna try anyway– we’re still trying to figure out what exactly happened to hi– to _them_. _They_ might be… find-able? Or they could come back someday, maybe.”

Astrida can feel her shoulders tensing; “And what happens if they do?”

Axel snorts, “We throw a party, probably. Then life just keeps going on.”

Astrida’s eyes narrow; “They wouldn’t take Roxas and Xion back?”

Axel first lets out a sound like a choked laugh before looking wide-eyed back at her; “What? Oh no, absolutely not, he– _they’ve_ got their own life, you know–”

Astrida puts her hands on her hips and cuts in, “And you don’t?”

Axel freezes.

Astrida lets the moment sit for a few seconds before she says, “I’ll lay this all out for you clearly, Axel. The facts in front of me are that a strange man in his mid-twenties no one knows anything about is out there with my son and two children he’s just… _keeping_ in an abandoned building. You and Isa aren’t married, no one in the four of you is related, and all Roxas or Xion ever call you and Isa are their ‘friends’. No one knows what you or Isa do with the time you don’t spend hanging around _children_ , which isn’t a lot. I need a reason to trust you with my only son, Axel, because frankly you aren’t giving me any.”

Axel stares at her for a moment, jaw tensing and one of his hands balling into a white-knuckled fist. The air seems to grow warmer by a degree.

Just as quickly as the flash of anger came it disappears, and Axel pinches the bridge of his nose with a long sigh; “Yeah… Yeah I haven’t, have I? God, there’s so much I’ve just straight up _forgotten_ about being normal…”

There’s another moment of silence as he runs his hand through his hair and the air falls back to room to temperature; “Okay, I’m just gonna explain the parts you’ll believe and understand, so that’s why this is gonna be a bunch of vague bullshit. There’s also shit I straight up _can’t_ tell you unless I want to make a mouse and a duck _very_ angry with me, so that’s something.”

Astrida doesn’t have too much time to think about what _that_ means before Axel starts to explain, “A while back, Isa and me fell in with some shady people– _seriously_ bad, shit they can’t arrest you for because it’s on too big a scale. Roxas and Xion joined up with that same crowd a little later, and I guess seeing _kids_ getting mixed up in this made me grow a conscience. I looked out for them when I could– when they’d _let_ me, the testy little brats– and tried to keep them sheltered from all the bad shit. We got out… It was fucking _hard_ , and _awful,_ and I thought I lost them both once, but we’re out.”

Axel leans his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes tight; “I dunno, I _guess_ all things considered I _kinda_ adopted them… They’re _my kids,_ but I mean… I’m not their _dad_. I’m not their brother, not by blood or anything… We’re friends. And… the only _other_ friends I’ve got besides them and Isa are either miles away, or dead.”

Axel opens his eyes and meets Astrida’s gaze; “And yeah, I really _don’t_ have my own life yet. It still hasn’t sunk in that they’re alright, that they won’t disappear the second I take my eyes off of them. I can’t give you the whole story, but I can tell you one thing– those kids are my whole world.”

Astrida can’t comprehend falling in with a crowd so far on the wrong side of the tracks that the right side disappears from view. She can’t comprehend being Axel’s age, being young and displaced and disaffected, and putting aside all of that to protect two children she doesn’t know. She can’t imagine nearly dying to escape certain peril and death.

But having no one left but your child… Astrida knows a little something about that.

Astrida breaks eye contact with Axel; “They’re going to grow up one day.”

Axel folds his arms behind his head with a soft smile; “Yeah… Here’s hoping _I’ve_ grown up by then.”

Astrida hopes she will have, too.

**ii**

Larxene catches sight of Marluxia in the mirror, smirking over her shoulder; “Trying out bangs again?”

She doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response, instead taking one hand away from her hair to flip him the bird. He just laughs, the _bastard_.

He waltzes through the doorway, deceptively large frame turning the bathroom from ‘cozy’ to ‘cramped’. God, _when_ did he get that _big?_ It feels like yesterday that he was scrawny and wearing pants that clashed with his hair.

Marluxia tilts his head to one side and remarks, “No, I don’t think bangs are right for Larxene.”

She keeps trying to brush her hair into the now-foreign shape, just muttering, “Well, I’m Elrena now, aren’t I? And she wore her hair like this. Might as well get back to basics.”

Marluxia doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he loops his arms around her waist and pulls her back flush to his chest.

“Who do _you_ feel like you are?”

He dwarfs her like this. Larxene hasn’t felt small in ages. With her hair in a poor attempt at bangs and surrounded by him, she almost feels like Elrena again. Except… Elrena _hated_ feeling small. Laurium was never tall, and Elrena had never killed anyone for the pure joy of it. Laurium and Elrena had been too young to fuck like Larxene and Marluxia had been for the last week and a half since they’d finally been able to _enjoy_ it again.

Larxene holds one hand out in front of her and reaches out with all her heart, begging that stupid thing to ‘be her guiding key’ or whatever the fuck.

Elrena’s keyblade doesn’t appear.

Larxene tosses the brush aside and it lands with a clatter in the shower. She reaches up behind her and runs her fingers through Marluxia’s hair, drowning all her feelings in the feathery softness.

“Haven’t we spent all this time screwing around so we _don’t_ have to think about that?”

Marluxia presses his face into the top of her head and she feels him smile against her scalp.

“If we have, I haven’t been very good at it.”

Larxene whirls around, eyes wide; “Please for the love of _God_ don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about shit like Ventus and Brain and _your sister_ while we’ve been having sex.”

He laughs, the sound like a sip of expensive champagne; “Perhaps between, but definitely not during.”

Larxene slaps his chest, right on top of a scar Sora left; “That’s _gross_. You’re fucking _gross,_ Marluxia.”

He leans in and laughs through a kiss, reaching under her thighs to lift her up and place her on the edge of the sink. He’s all she can see, all she can feel in this tiny room. She wants him to engulf her.

She pants in the seconds their mouths aren’t connected, “I told you I’m along for the ride, you choose the direction we’re heading.”

His lips flutter along her jawline and to her ear, where he whispers, “I may have the heading, but you set the pace. Where you’re going isn’t as important as how fast you get there.”

She grins and wraps her legs around him; “Then you’d better get ready to take it nice and slow, baby.”

The kiss he presses to her cheek is pure affection; “As you wish, love.”

Having a heart is, for the most part, overrated. But Larxene would be lying if she said she hadn’t missed hearing him say that and mean it.

The day breaks and they lose themselves in each other yet again.

**iii**

Terra’s helping remove and destroy much of the contents of Ansem’s office when he finds the portrait.

Three people displaced in time don’t really have much in the way of employment prospects, so Ansem and Ienzo are kind enough to give the three of them odd jobs around Radiant Garden when they pop up. Aqua adapted well to what’s been invented since they all went under, so she gets to actually contribute to the research efforts. Ventus tends to be mostly good for running and fetching over great distances. And Terra… apparently, all Terra’s good for is lifting heavy things. He’s not sure he’d disagree.

Ansem wanted a clean break with the past. Anything unnecessary for future experimentation was to go, and that included the large portrait of Xehanort as a young man. Terra stares at it for quite a while before he even notices the date and signature in the bottom left corner. And he stares at _that_ for even _longer_ before he cuts the portrait out of the frame, rolls it up, and stows it away. He throws away only the frame, and if anyone noticed, no one says anything.

Terra takes a far longer look at the portrait when he’s alone that evening– Aqua and Ventus are in the other room, Aqua futilely trying to teach Ventus how to use his gummiphone– and drinks in every part of it.

The colors are different, as is the hair, but that’s definitely his jawline. That’s his nose– his father’s nose too, according to Master Eraqus– and his brow and his cheekbones. Terra stares at his own face and it won’t meet his gaze. He thinks of Xehanort’s Heartless and Xemnas. He tries to imagine what he would’ve looked like in ten more years.

Or… he supposes, what he _did_ look like.

Terra is twenty years old.

Terra _should be_ thirty years old.

And the Terra that followed the river of time’s course without diverting from it died a year and a half ago.

A week later, Terra leaves Aqua asleep and finds Ven outside, stargazing. The Chirithy, Ven’s new old friend, is curled up at his side with its large head pillowed on his lap. Terra settles down on Ven’s other side and stares out at the night sky for a moment or two more.

“Ventus?”

Ven grimaces; “Am I in trouble? You _never_ call me Ventus.”

He smiles and nudges Ven with his elbow; “You’re not in trouble– If you _were_ I’d be letting Aqua do all the scolding. She’s better at it than I am.”

Ven snickers and elbows him back; “Yeah, you’re better at yelling.”

Terra lets the night lapse back into silence, just long enough to hear a few crickets chirp, then asks, “Ventus, do you ever feel like… You aren’t who you are?”

Terra expects Ven to quirk an eyebrow and ask Terra what the Hell he’s talking about, but instead he replies surprisingly fast, “Yeah. All the time.”

Terra turns to him, brows leaping up; “Seriously?”

Ven nods as he gives the Chirithy’s head a pat; “I mean, there’s the Ventus that escaped the Keyblade War and lived inside a dream, there’s the Ventus that trained with Master Xehanort, Vanitas is a part of Ventus, after losing my memory and getting raised by you guys I became _this_ Ventus, and Roxas is only Roxas because he has a piece of me in him. I don’t know if one of them is the _real_ Ventus, or all of them are.”

Terra leans back on the heels of his hands, eyes finding the moon; “I don’t think there is a _real_ Terra, not anymore anyway.”

Ven shrugs, turning to look up at him; “Well, you’re the Terra that’s left. I feel like that makes you the real one by default.”

Terra is quiet for a long time.

“… I’m _dead_ , Ventus. My body was possessed by Xehanort, then got split into a Heartless and Nobody, and when both were destroyed… _I_ didn’t come back. Xehanort did. And I have no idea _how_ I’m sitting here right now, if I skipped ahead in time to a replica body or… _something._ I don’t _belong_ here. None of us do.”

Ven leans over, resting his head on Terra’s shoulder; “Should’ve woken up Aqua. She’d know what to say.”

Terra smiles, just a bit; “Would she? She’s the only one out of the three of us that went from point A to B in time the old fashioned way.”

Ven raises an eyebrow; “I mean, she spent those ten years in the Realm of Darkness– Time doesn’t really _flow_ there.”

Terra just reaches up to ruffle Ven’s hair; “We’re all older than we seem.”

**iv**

Every single room in the mansion has at least two clocks. It’s a necessity when all four of it’s new tenants are from worlds where the sun regularly rises and sets, and at least one of them would sleep for a week straight if he didn’t have an alarm telling him when to wake up.

So despite the constant twilight it’s _apparently_ five in the morning when Axel gets woken up by a violent crashing sound down the hall.

Axel’s instincts propel him up and out of bed in the time it takes to light a match, his keyblade materializing in his hand without him needing to reach for it. His long legs and sprinting pace get him to the source of the commotion in seconds, and with a flick of the blade the door to Isa’s room is unlocked and opened in less time than that. It’s only when he gets to the bathroom door that Axel finally screeches to a halt.

The sight in front of him is far less catastrophic than his muscle memory had thought it would be.

Isa is kneeling on the floor, gathering large pieces of broken mirror and placing them in a trash bag with a methodical care that would seem calm if not for the minute trembling in his fingers. Shards of the mirror that _had_ been above the sink litter the ground, and Axel dismisses his keyblade so he can more carefully tiptoe over to Isa’s side.

“What the Hell happened here?”

Isa doesn’t look at him; “An accident. I’m fine.”

Axel looks to the sink. Isa’s razor is sitting near the drain, and Isa’s chin is covered in untouched, dark cobalt stubble. There are deep shadows under his eyes. He gets up, opens a cupboard, and the hand he uses to grab a dustpan has knuckles drenched in blood. Axel waits until Isa’s settled down beside him again before grabbing his wrist, bringing his hand up and forcing him to look at the damage.

“No, you aren’t,” Axel states, voice and gaze hard as obsidian.

Isa wrenches out of his grasp, avoiding his eyes, and Axel’s overcome with the overwhelming urge to just take him by the shoulders and shake him until he just _talks to him_ like a _normal person_. God he thought this shit was _done_ , that Isa would stop shutting him out, but _no,_ extracting him from his own head has been a _process_. There are days when Axel wants to burn down a whole forest, and if Isa doesn’t give him _something_ today might be _the_ day–

Isa suddenly looks him in the eye; “I saw a gray hair in the mirror.”

Axel blinks once. Twice. Three times. Four times more in rapid successions.

“You fucking _serious_ , man?”

Isa’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice takes on a nearly imperceptible waver; “I haven’t _aged_ in several years, Lea. But I _have_ had to deal with slowly being possessed by and molded into _Xehanort._ So _you_ tell _me_ what your instincts would consider the more likely possibility.”

There’s really no other way for Axel to respond than, “… Fuck, dude.”

Isa returns to sweeping the smaller shards of glass into the dustpan; “All of that’s over. No point dwelling on it.”

Axel lets that hang in the air for a moment before reaching out and taking Isa’s shoulder, stopping him mid-sweep.

And Axel speaks, stream of consciousness; “I keep having the same dream, every few nights. I’m staring down myself, but it’s me in the Organization cloak, with the marks under my eyes. And before I can say anything to him he reaches out and wraps his hands around my throat and starts squeezing, trying to choke me out. And he says… He always says the same thing. He screams in my face, ‘Let me out! Let me _out!_ Roxas and Xion are _my friends,_ not yours! _Let me out!’_ And it’s just when I’m starting to pass out in the dream that I wake up.”

Isa’s jaw is clenched tightly shut but his eyes have gone wide. He’s holding his breath.

Axel runs his other hand through his hair with a sigh; “I went to Ienzo after the first one. He said there was nothing to worry about, that I only had one heart and was only one person… But fuck, man… What makes Roxas and Xion any different than us? We _were_ growing our hearts back, that’s how we _felt shit,_ none of that was an _act_ we _know that now_ so– Who the fuck’s to say Axel and Lea aren’t two different people? There might not be two different hearts in there but… We were _different fucking people_ during all that. That shit _changed us_. I’m not… I’m not out here calling myself Axel just because it’s easier. It’s because I don’t know if I actually _am_ Lea… or if I ever will be him again.”

Axel shuts his eyes; “I dunno where I was going with that… I guess… I’m saying that it’s not over. Not really. It’s never gonna be. So long as we remember what happened, we’re carrying this until we die. And that’s… I dunno. It’s not _fine_. But it’s not bad either. It just… is.”

Isa says nothing. He just returns to sweeping up the fragments of the mirror. Axel lets Isa finish shaving in his bathroom and throws out the broken shards in the trashcans out front. If Roxas and Xion heard what happened, they don’t make it obvious.

**v**

“Did you _actually_ know the whole time?”

The interruption makes Demyx fumble the chord, and instead of answering the question he grouses, “Real nice, Luxord, now I gotta start all over again!”

Luxord continues his work on the rigging; “I asked you a question.”

Demyx just blinks; “You did?”

Luxord rolls his eyes; “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear it– Then you won’t have an excuse for messing up that chord.”

Demyx, once again, doesn’t actually answer. He just blows a raspberry at the back of Luxord’s head and gets back to noodling away on his sitar.

Luxord lets out a sigh and turns away from the sails, leaning against the mast; “Did you _actually_ know the whole time that we had hearts? You told Sora that we do. Was that just bluster?”

“Nope, I knew,” Demyx replies, not looking up from the sitar strings, “Pretty much everything Xemnas and Xigbar told us about us faking emotions through muscle memory sounded like complete bullshit to me. I trusted my gut– or I guess my heart, huh?”

Demyx laughs at his own joke and Luxord walks across the deck, leaning on the railing next to him. He takes a moment to just stare at his… crewmate now, he supposes, and take in the young man. He’s sunburned and freckled on every exposed inch of skin, the inevitable consequence of spending so long in a cloak that covers everything but your head. There are new scars all along his arms and hands from tiny mishaps while trying to repair their ship, and his hair has finally grown out all the way around thanks to the lack of any barber who could even _comprehend_ Demyx’s hairstyle.

They’ve only been at sea for a scant few months, but when he looks at how Demyx has changed it feels like it’s been years.

“If you knew that, why did you stay with the organization?”

Demyx’s mouth curls into a fond little smile; “Because I liked you guys.”

“Alright, you’re hilarious, give me the real answer now,” Luxord snorts.

“Sorry man, that’s it,” Demyx laughs, “I’m not that complicated. I don’t _do_ ‘agendas’ and ‘secrets’– Only reason I pulled off Vexen’s is because no one was paying any attention to me. I just like you guys, and I didn’t wanna be by myself. I like having a crew to run with. That’s all.”

Luxord lets that sit for a moment before he smirks; “Is _that_ why you wanted us to become pirates?”

Demyx grins back up at him; “I’m way cooler with stealing treasure than hearts.”

Luxord closes his eyes. He focuses on the wind biting at his cheeks, the smell of salt on the air, the sound of far-off birds and the feeling of wood beneath his elbows.

Life has been far too complicated for far too long. Luxord could do with simple for a little while.

He pushes off the rail and grins over his shoulder; “So then, First Mate, let’s get going– With this wind, we’ll find that Fountain of Youth before Sparrow can even think of getting his ship out of port!”

Demyx just snickers and plucks out a series of notes; _Yo-ho yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me…_

**vi**

If Xigbar has internalized any lesson from the Master of Masters, it’s that being vague will get you _everywhere_.

He’d said a few words, thrown in some meaningful phrases, and left just enough gaps to let the other foretellers convince themselves it was absolutely _imperative_ they come to this ghost town in this dead-end world. They were all so _very_ good at overthinking and working themselves into a lather, dancing along on someone else’s strings and being _certain_ that not only was it all their idea but it was exactly what the Master would’ve wanted.

Xigbar hasn’t given a shit about what the Master would’ve wanted for a _very_ long time.

He strolls into a deserted bar and drops No Name in the umbrella stand, whistling low and breathless. He pulls out a barstool with his foot and hops up onto it with a loud, theatrical sigh. He doesn’t remember his ‘friends’ being quite this _exhausting,_ but he supposes that’s what happens when you outgrow people.

Xigbar rolls his neck just to hear it crack– How old would he _be_ now, anyway? As Luxu he’s too old to even bother with numbers. Braig was what, forty-something? Maybe closer to fifty-something. _Definitely_ closer to fifty-something when he finally took the plunge and became a Nobody. He _feels_ fifty-something, or at least all the sore parts of him do.

For a moment, he considers another body.

He catches his own reflection in a dusty glass and smiles. No, he’s not trading these gray hairs, yellow eyes and pointy ears for anything in the world.

Xigbar turns and surveys the empty barroom for a long moment.

Then, he starts rearranging chairs. Thirteen, all in a circle around one table. He stares at his handiwork for another moment before he starts bringing more chairs from around the room, stacking them on top of each other until the appropriate chairs are at the appropriate heights, relative to each other anyway. Then he goes behind the bar, scrounging up thirteen glasses.

Xemnas he knows for a fact would only drink an Old Fashioned, straight vodka for himself, a Hurricane would do just fine for Xaldin, Vexen didn’t drink but Xigbar makes a Cold Comfort specifically because he’d hate the pun, Lexaeus was surprisingly fond of Mint Julep, a Whiskey Sour to match Zexion’s attitude, another drink made just for the pun with a Seven and Seven for Saiix, Tequila Sunrise because after seven of these they’d lost Axel for a week then found him again in Atlantica, Sex on the Beach because Demyx could never order it without giggling, Luxord actually did like Piña Coladas (jury’s still out on being caught in the rain), a Jack Rose for Marluxia, an Electric Lemonade for Larxene, and a Shirley Temple for Roxas… oh Hell, why not make it two for the sweet little Poppet?

Xigbar clinks the vodka against the Old Fashioned and says to the empty air, “Thanks for all your hard work.”

When Invi finds Luxu, he’s sitting on top of a pile of chairs in a ring of piled-on chairs, seven glasses deep into thirteen glasses of various alcohols. Despite his intoxicated flush and how his head nearly brushes the ceiling he’s managed to balance himself perfectly.

Behind her mask, she raises an eyebrow; “What on _Earth_ are you doing?”

He just grins, that lush, unfamiliar grin that always makes her doubt him; “What on _Earth’s_ it look like?”

She folds her arms over her chest and replies in an icy tone, “Like you’re making a fool of yourself.”

He lets out a cackle, “Got it in one, Chica,” and throws back the whole glass.

**vii**

Riku is the last among them to try Sea Salt Ice Cream, and he spits it out after taking his first bite.

“This is _nasty_ ,” he sputters, “How do Axel, Roxas and Xion eat this _every day?_ ”

Naminé covers her mouth as she giggles, “Well, they can’t do it every day anymore. That’s the problem with being human, you have to watch what you eat.”

He smiles as he tosses the rest of the ice cream bar out to sea; “Yep, that’s the worst part of the whole deal.”

Naminé raises an eyebrow as she nurses her own ice cream; “That’s wasteful, Riku.”

Riku only shrugs, leaning back against the tree trunk; “Wood’s biodegradable. And some fish is gonna have a _really_ interesting lunch. It’s fine.”

“What if that fish chokes on the popsicle stick?”

Riku is quiet for a moment before he remarks, “I actually didn’t think about that.”

Naminé gives his shoulder a gentle push; “Give the ice cream to me next time.”

Riku reaches up and takes her hand, lacing their fingers together. Naminé can feel how sweaty her palm is against his. She focuses on the trunk beneath her, on swinging her legs in the open air, but that’s less helpful than it should be. Her memories of sitting in this spot and kicking her legs into the breeze aren’t hers.

Riku’s voice breaks the silence; “Would you ever want to share a Paopu fruit? Not, like, right now… But someday, you know?”

Naminé’s heart catches in her throat.

She speaks without thinking; “Didn’t you want to share a Paopu fruit with Kairi?”

Riku’s fingers tense up; “… I mean, I guess, but it wasn’t… Look, I was little asshole back then. I just wanted to get there first.”

Naminé frowns; “What does that mean?”

“I wanted to beat Sora,” Riku mutters, “Yeah, it’s a dickhead move, treating Kairi like a prize… but I was a kid, you know?”

“That was only two years ago,” Naminé remarks flatly.

Riku lets go of her hand so he can hop up onto the trunk, his weight causing the tree to bow a bit; “Why are you asking, anyway? You’re not Kairi.”

Naminé avoids his gaze; “And you’re not your replica.”

Riku frowns, craning his neck around to try and meet her eyes; “Look, Naminé, just say what’s on your mind. I can take it.”

She stares out at the horizon. If she lets her eyes go out of focus the sky and the sea blend together into one, infinite expanse of blue.

“I worry,” she murmurs, “I worry that we’re fooling ourselves. I worry that you’re just looking for Kairi in me, or you’re just trying to do what your replica would’ve wanted. I worry that we’re both just chasing shadows. I worry that we’re… settling.”

Riku turns that thought over for a moment; “… I don’t suppose me just _saying_ ‘you know that’s not true’ would actually help, would it?”

Naminé smiles just a bit; “Not long term, but it’s nice to hear.”

There’s another pause before Riku puts an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close to his side; “Then _instead_ I’ll just say that I want to stay with you as long as I can.”

Naminé watches the waves break on the beach, draw away, then crash back down.

“Maybe when we’re older,” Naminé says, “I actually get to _get_ older now. Maybe we’ll share a Paopu fruit then.”

Riku takes her hand once more, running his thumb over her knuckles; “Only if you’re sure.”

“I’ll try to be.”

**viii**

Sora is hard to mourn.

He’s left traces of his presence all around her, filled every space he could. It’s difficult for Kairi to act like he’s gone when it feels like he’s in everything from the sand to the sky.

Destiny Islands feel like a monument to him. Everywhere she looks is a place where they’ve run, played, argued, slept, passed through. Kairi can’t go over to the small island anymore, not by herself. She needs someone to remind her that Sora isn’t going to come running around the cove, chattering about finding some weird lizard in The Secret Place or pulling a prank on a napping Wakka. Kairi has to start taking a different route home from school to avoid passing by his house. She sees his parents around sometimes– they smile and wave and make small talk like she isn’t the reason they lost their son. Kairi can never talk to them for long.

Riku was once Sora’s complete opposite, but now when she’s near him all she sees is how Sora changed him. He’s more open now, more genuine, kinder. He treats Naminé with a tenderness she’s never seen from him, but makes her think of the day she and Sora finally shared a Paopu fruit. He’s bolder, clearer, even brighter– it almost feels like Riku’s trying to fill the space Sora left behind.

There are echoes of Sora in all their friends. Donald and Goofy are hard-pressed to find stories to tell that don’t have him in them, and they share them with loudly enough to wake the dead. Ventus shines with the same light. Roxas has the same temper. Xion will stare when Kairi’s not looking and hurriedly look away with a flushed face, just like he would– it only makes sense, she’s made of Sora’s love for her. Sometimes Kairi wonders if she should try and honor that, but always thinks better of it.

She’s not him. None of them are him. If they were, they never would’ve left his heart.

So many of their friends wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for him. They are his legacy, his heart’s work, and so is she. That should make her feel something other than guilty, she thinks.

During a visit, she asks Axel what he did to cope when he was in her place. He tries to joke that he _didn’t_ , but they both know better than that.

He sighs, “I don’t know what to tell you. I honestly didn’t _get_ a lot of time to cope before I got… well I mean it _felt_ like dying but I’m here so– whatever, semantics. I guess when I finally pulled my head out of my ass I just… tried to live like Roxas would. Made it feel like he wasn’t so far away.”

Kairi wants to explain that Sora being too far away isn’t the problem, but decides against it.

Somehow, Aqua knows. She always seems to know. Their hearts have been connected for a decade, even if Kairi didn’t know it, and there is some relief in having someone who can understand her half as well as Sora did.

When they have a moment away from the others, Aqua tells her, “You don’t need me to tell you how to feel, Kairi. You have a strong heart, and one you can trust to steer you right. If you feel like it’s hard to miss Sora… Then maybe that’s a feeling you need to follow.”

She doesn’t want to follow it. She just wants to mourn her dead boyfriend like a normal person. Kairi wants to leave flowers at a grave and stare out over the ocean and wear black and promise to never love again. She doesn’t want to live in a constant state of suspense, hoping for another surreal miracle when one won’t come.

At night Kairi lies on the beach, back in the sand, toes in the surf, eyes on the stars. A meteor streaks across the sky, and Kairi remembers the first time Sora left her behind.

He said he’d always be with her, no matter where he went.

And he’d kept his promise.

He’d been with her even when everyone else forgot about him. He’d found his way home to her across an endless sea. He’d found her through worlds, through dreams and darkness and death. He always found her.

She feels a stirring in her heart, foreign but familiar, and she smiles.

“Alright, I guess I won’t miss you,” she murmurs, “But you’d better not get upset that I didn’t throw enough flowers into the sea in your memory.”

Kairi gets the feeling he won’t mind.


End file.
